


Sherlock Didn't Know

by DaringlyDomestic



Series: Domestic Angsty Fluffy One-Shots [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 09:37:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5923573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaringlyDomestic/pseuds/DaringlyDomestic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There aren't many things that Sherlock Holmes doesn't know. That's why it is so surprising that he didn't know about the biggest most important thing in his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Six hundred thirty-three, six hundred thirty-four, John just got out of the shower...six hundred thirty-five, six hundred thirty-six, six hundred thirty-seven, six hundred thirty-eight...John is probably getting dressed right now...Oh, God! John's naked...I hope he wears those ridiculously sexy black pants...Scratch that! I hope he doesn't wear any pants...Why doesn't John just come out naked?...six hundred thirty-nine, six hundred forty, six hundred forty-one, six hundred forty-two, John's coming out of the bedroom...six hundred forty-three, six hundred forty-four...John isn't stopping in the sitting room...six hundred forty-five, why is John coming into the kitchen?...six hundred forty-six, he knows I'm working on this experiment and if I don't time it properly I'll have to start over...six hundred forty-seven, six hundred forty-eight...John is making tea...six hundred forty-nine, six hundred fifty, six hundred fifty-one, six hundred fifty-two, six hundred fifty-three, six hundred fifty-four, six hundred fifty-five, six hundred fifty-six, six hundred fifty-seven, six hundred fifty-eight, six hundred fifty-nine..._

John sets a cup next to Sherlock's arm and places a soft kiss in his curls before heading back into the sitting room. 

_Six hundred sixty...Oh John made me tea...six hundred sixty-one...John won't disturb the Work...six hundred sixty-two, six hundred sixty-three, six hundred sixty-four...but John still wants to be close to me...six hundred sixty-five, six hundred sixty-six, six hundred sixty-seven...John loves me...six hundred sixty-eight, six hundred sixty-nine..._

Sherlock stops counting,  ** _I_** _love John...I **love** John....I love  **John.** Of course I love John, but I've never actually said it, have I? Not out loud. John tells me all the time. At breakfast, in between cases, before bed, in the backs of cabs, in the park, at Scotland Yard, in 221B. John never stops telling me. Does John know that I love him? He must. It's so obvious even Lestrade can see it. But John's never been the most observant person. Maybe he doesn't know. Suddenly the though that John Watson doesn't know...even the chance of John questioning his role in Sherlock's life is unbearable. __He won't let it go on for one more minute._ Sherlock pushes back from the table and his chair makes an ungodly scraping noise. As Sherlock enters the sitting room, John looks up at him.  _God, that face will be the death of me. How does John manage to convey so many emotions at once?_ John is gazing at Sherlock with a mixture of love, amusement, and bewilderment. "Sherlock?" he asks with a chuckle. "Done already? I didn't expect you to leave that table all night." 

Humiliating, warm tears escape Sherlock's eyes at the unexpected tenderness of the statement. John understands him, and he cannot believe he is crying. He has never been this happy in his entire life, and John's face is all wrong. He is starting to look truly concerned now. "What is it, love? Are you..." John stops abruptly when Sherlock drops to his knees next to John's chair. "John," Sherlock chokes out. His voice is strained by the avalanche of emotion threatening to pour out of his chest. He fumbles blindly for John's hand, refusing to look away. John calmly slides his hand into Sherlock's damp, shaking one.  _John is perfect. Ever steady, unshakable, anchoring him in the moment._ John makes a half-hearted effort to school his face into a reassuring smile and waits. He knows Sherlock will talk when he finds the words. Sherlock takes a few more calming breaths, squeezes John's hand, and starts talking. Once, he begins, he finds that the words flow easily. He feels no hesitation, just a deep feeling of rightness. 

"John Watson, you keep me right. My fixed-point in an ever-changing age. Before I met you, my life was complete. I had the Work and I was happy. I no longer needed the drugs and I certainly did not need Mycroft. I was untouchable and indispensable to Scotland Yard. Sure, they didn't like me, but they needed me. And that was immensely satisfying." Sherlock takes a moment to draw breath and notices that John's eyebrows have drawn together. _That's not right. John is supposed to feel happy and loved, not confused._ Sherlock knows that he is doing this all wrong. He sighs at his own inadequacy. John's face clears and he pulls Sherlock's arm forward, forcing him to lean against John's leg. The contact is surprisingly comforting. 

"Go on," John encourages. "Yes, I will," Sherlock replies, with a knowing smile. A brief flash of recognition flits across John's face. For such an unobservant person, John has a very inconvenient habit of picking up on the most inopportune details. "But John, I didn't know. How could I have known? There was no one before you. No one I cared for and no one who cared for me. I did not know that the restlessness I felt when there were no cases was loneliness. I did not know that the anger I felt toward Donovan and Anderson was hurt. And I certainly didn't know that I would ever have the honor of being loved by the bravest and kindest and wisest man I have ever known." John's eyes are glistening now too. "When I met you, I was woefully unequipped to deal with our friendship. I'd never had one and I did everything wrong. But you stayed anyway. For the life of me, I cannot figure out why, but I am eternally grateful that you did. Tonight I again find myself woefully unequipped. I am so sorry that you have waited this long. I saw but I did not understand. John, I never expected to be loved by anyone and your love has been such a revelation that I fear I have utterly neglected you." John starts to disagree but Sherlock silences him with a short squeeze of his hand.  

 "John, I am a ridiculous man, redeemed only by the warmth and constancy of your affection. I love you, I am in love with you, and I have loved you since that very first night. You were glowing, excitement shining in your eyes, your sadness complete forgotten, left behind in that Italian restaurant with your useless metal cane in favor of a frantic chase through dark London streets with a mad man. I knew then, John. I knew I loved you, and I tried every way I knew to keep you. I don't know why it never occurred to me to just ask, but I won't make that mistake again. John, we missed so much time trying not to be you and me. From now on, I want it to always be  _us_ \- Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson. An inseparable, immovable pair. I want everyone to know. I want the world to know. Most importantly, I want you to know that I have loved you, I do love you, and I will continue to love you always."

Suddenly nervous,  Sherlock looks away. He won't be able to bear the look on John's face if he refuses. But Sherlock decided to be brave. He has decided to tell John everything and deal with the consequences later. His traitorous voice trembles and the words are so soft when he finally asks, "Marry me?" The flat is hideously silent.  _Oh god. I was wrong. Why would John want that? Why would John want me? I should get up. Move. Go._ Just as Sherlock resolves to flee the flat, he feels, more than sees, John's knees hit the floor. Suddenly, John is there, directly in front of Sherlock with tears streaming down his cheeks. "Oh god, yes," he whispers as he leans in to kiss Sherlock's mouth hungrily. 

Elation. A wide smile breaks over Sherlock's face and effectively stops the kissing. Sherlock can't bring his lips together, so he gives up and hauls John to his feet. They dance around the flat with wandering hands and wondrous eyes. Sherlock didn't know that happiness like this existed and he certainly didn't know that he would ever be allowed to experience it. In this moment, all he knows is that he never wants to be without John Watson again, and John has just promised that he ever won't have to be. 


	2. John Knows...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A follow-up to Sherlock Didn't Know for Smut Sunday!

Sherlock and John's happiness is palpable in the flat. Sherlock is breathing hard and John is leaning slightly against him. The dancing has taken a toll on John's leg, but he doesn't seem to mind. Sherlock slows and eases them into a sensuous waltz. He pulls John in closer than is traditionally acceptable for this dance, and he rests his cheek on John's sandy blonde hair. John gives up all pretense and wraps both arms tightly around Sherlock's waist leaving Sherlock's arms to rest loosely atop John's shoulders. They sway lightly and breath each other in. Soft contentment curls in Sherlock's stomach. John's eyes press tightly closed against Sherlock's abdomen, and it takes several minutes for Sherlock to realize that the front of his shirt is wet. "John?" Sherlock has to know what he has done wrong. He had thought they were both happy, but John is crying and that is so wrong that Sherlock will do just about anything to make it stop. John leans back, not removing his arms from Sherlock, and looks up at him with watery eyes. A smile crinkles the lines around his eyes, and he shakes his head. "Oh, Sherlock. I'm just so happy, love. So very happy." 

Relieved, Sherlock leans down to press his lips to John's. John tastes like honey and mint and salt-water. He tastes like home. With affection, Sherlock replies, "You're an idiot." John isn't offended. This is their language - his and Sherlock's. This is how they have always spoken, from the very beginning. This is how they say "I love you." John responds with a cheeky, "I'm your idiot." And efficiently cuts off the conversation as he deepens the kiss. It becomes something hot and impatient. Racing from the tips of his toes to his head, making him a bit woozy. It's desire and comfort, desperation and fulfillment, perfection and jagged broken edges. The kiss is every single emotion Sherlock Holmes has ever felt toward John Watson and he hopes that John can feel it too. Sherlock's analysis of the kiss becomes irrelevant as John's hands grip his ass and physically slot their aching erections together. John's mouth is on his neck and Sherlock's hands are shakily trying to force John's jumper over his head without breaking the heavenly contact of lips and teeth and tongue along his jaw. With a roar of frustration, he staggers back and rips the jumper off in one smooth motion. Not wanting to be delayed again, he rips John's vest off as well. This leaves John shirtless and panting in the sitting room. Sherlock drops to his knees and worships that small, tan, compact body he loves. He tongues gently along sensitive scar tissue and bites playfully at hard nipples. He kisses, tastes, touches every inch of John's torso until the face above him is flushed pink with arousal and John's eyes are blown wide and dark with hunger. John's hips are stuttering helpless in the air trying to get some sort of contact and John is moaning. "Christ, Sherlock! Pl-please. Touch me. Dear God, touch me." Sherlock's tongue plunders John's belly-button and he leaves one last linger line of blazing kisses along his stomach as he slowly begins to undo John's trousers. John's arms are plastered to his sides and his fingers are alternately squeezing into a fist and releasing. When Sherlock gets the button undone, he places one of John's hands on his head and slides the zipper free with his teeth. John exhales loudly and grips Sherlock's curls by the roots. Sensation shoots from his scalp to his cock turning the gentle aching burn of arousal to a flaming fire. Deciding he is done with gentle seduction, Sherlock quickly rids John of his jeans and pants. As soon as John's cock bobs free, it is in Sherlock's mouth. John's knees buckle and he almost comes crashing down onto Sherlock. In retrospect, that probably wasn't the kindest move, but Sherlock couldn't wait any longer. He needed John Watson to be inside of him immediately. The thought of John inside of him, sends another stab of arousal through his body and his cock starts to leak precum even though it hasn't even been touched yet. John is gulping air like he can hardly take in a solid breath and his balls are drawing tight. Sherlock knows that John is close and he can't help slipping a single finger underneath his own cock. He reaches back along his balls and back even farther to play along his entrance. He huffs around John's cock as his finger makes contact with the muscle. John looks down at Sherlock's exhale and realizes what he is doing. With single-minded determination in his eyes, John yanks Sherlock upright and manhandles him down the hall. His mouth is sucking, biting, kissing Sherlock hard enough to bruise and it is incredible, impossible, amazing. 

Once John gets Sherlock stripped and onto their bed, he hovers over him on all fours. "God, you're beautiful," he whispers adoringly. Sherlock blushes at the praise and turns his head to the side. After everything that he and John have been through it's not that he doesn't believe John, but it's still highly embarrassing and uncomfortable to be the sole focus of the bravest and wisest man he has ever known. John slides a hand along Sherlock's cheek and forces him to make eye contact. He places a soft kiss on Sherlock's nose and happiness rumbles in his chest. "I love you Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock smiles and his arms reach up to grip along John's back. "I want you inside of me, right now," Sherlock murmurs deeply in John's ear. John lets out a high-pitched moan and his fingers are reaching down to tease where Sherlock's finger had been minutes before. John circles Sherlock's holes until his hips are bucking, unsure of whether he wants John's hand on his cock or John's fingers in his ass. "J-John. Please." As John slides a finger slowly into Sherlock's tight, dark heat, he looks up at Sherlock and says, "You're wrong you know." Sherlock is barely aware that John is speaking. He is lost in the sensation of John entering him. He knows that this is nothing compared to what is to come but it is already consuming him, pulling him under. He fights to stay in the present, fully aware. "Wrong?" He manages to sputter. John chuckles as he fucks his finger in and out, twisting slightly on every other withdrawal. Sherlock is the flushed one now, his hands are scrambling in the sheets trying to anchor himself to something, anything, and his head is turning from side-to-side. Without faltering in his pace, John kisses his way up Sherlock's chest and neck to speak directly into Sherlock's ear. "You don't want me inside of you. You need it." John draws back with a predatory grin as Sherlock moans and loses the tender grip he had on his control. He is openly writhing now and his deep husky voice tears a scream of anguish from his throat as John adds a second finger. Sherlock wants more. Faster. Harder. Deeper. But John is determined to keep his steady rhythm. In. Out. In. Twist. In. Out. In. Twist. It is slowly driving Sherlock insane. It is driving him into oblivion, into darkness. Into heavenly, heavenly light. Sherlock is dimly aware that his thoughts don't make any sense anymore. Sherlock is not aware that he is murmuring his thoughts out loud. He is unable to keep even a basic filter in his mind when John is fucking him like this. John is about to snap. He wants to fuck, mark, claim, own the chaotic, beautiful, anomalous creature spread open beneath him, but he is nothing if not thorough. He wants Sherlock to be ready for him, to be open and eager as John's cock finally, finally slides into him. After a few more minutes, Sherlock cannot take it anymore. Actual tears leak from his fluttering eyelashes and he pushes one conscious thought out amidst the stream of mindless babble. "Fuck me, John. Now. Fuck me." 

That is all that John needs. In one motion, he slides up Sherlock's body and presses his mouth against Sherlock's wet eyelids. He kisses away the tears, and licks down his jaw. He kisses Sherlock's nose, cheeks, and lips as he breaches Sherlock's entrance. For a moment, Sherlock feels the big-ness of John. His length and girth seem almost too large for him to accommodate. But they have done this before. Many times. Sherlock breaths deeply when John bottoms out, his balls nestled against Sherlock's entrance. John is still and waiting for a sign from Sherlock. A few more breaths have Sherlock dizzy with need again and he wraps his calves around John. Uses his heels to urge John to move. John does not disappoint. He pumps into Sherlock and the exquisite torture of foreplay has driven them to the edge already. Now, they are all frantic energy. The thrill of the chase, blood pumping through their veins, just the two of them against the rest of the world as they chase their release together. John is gripping Sherlock's arms and his head is bowed as he drives into Sherlock, canting his hips to hit just the right spot. Sherlock's vision whites out as John hits his prostate over and over. He wants to tell John to touch him, to wrap his strong steady hands around Sherlock's cock, but he is beyond words now. John looks up and locks eyes with Sherlock for a brief moment and Sherlock sees John mouthing the words at him. "I love you." Sherlock's not sure if his hearing has gone or if John simply cannot force enough breath to give voice to the words, but he doesn't care. Just seeing those words and feeling them in every thrust sends him over the edge. One last shudder and he is cumming, thick white ropes spatter their chests and Sherlock's body goes limp, pliant, but his eyes never leave John's face. Still shaking with aftershocks, Sherlock runs his fingers up John's arm, around his neck, to the back of his head. He pulls his lover down and utters admiration, praise, a prayer in between kisses. "I love you too, John. I love you too." It only takes a few more thrusts before John is shaking apart in Sherlock's arms. He collapses with the weight of his orgasm, but Sherlock doesn't mind. He gather John against his chest and lets him ride out the feeling. 

When their breathing has slowed and the cum adorning both of their bodies has turned from incredibly arousing to incredibly itchy, John rouses himself and moves to roll off of Sherlock. Sherlock cages him with his arms and John goes happily back to laying across Sherlock's chest with his ear over Sherlock's heart. His breath plays across one of Sherlock's nipples - a lovely tingling sensation. But it doesn't cause the uncontainable hunger it had spurred earlier. John is leisurely tracing the veins on Sherlock's arm and Sherlock is running one foot along John's calf. They stay that way for several minutes until Sherlock catches John's hand and laces their fingers together. He raises it to his mouth and kisses each finger. Then, he slides his thumb and index finger into a circle around the fourth finger of John's left hand. He stares at the ring of bone and flesh that current adorns John's hand and can't help the goofy grin that splits his face. He looks up to see the same expression mirrored on John's features.  _John is his fiancee. John is going to marry him. John is never going to get annoyed or bored and leave. John - John is everything and Sherlock cannot wait to show him that he too is loved deeply, truly, faithfully. Sherlock cannot wait to show John exactly what he means each and every day._


End file.
